


Fusion

by Greenlady



Category: Criminal Minds, Fringe, Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Greenlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer Reid, a profiler with the FBI, searches for Lex Luthor after Oliver Queen petitions to have him declared dead when he has only been missing for three weeks.  This is another story which will be continued after the heat death of the universe because what the hell is the point?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fusion

Fusion  
********

He had an eidetic memory for almost everything, except for his erotic dreams about men. It was this fact that persuaded him to discount those dreams as meaningless -- or at least as meaning something quite other than their surface details would indicate. 

According to more than one book of dream analysis the dreams meant that he was entirely heterosexual, and that he entirely accepted himself. He wasn’t sure about the total heterosexuality, to say the least. Also, how could he accept what he didn’t completely know or understand? So perhaps the dreams were his own convoluted way of dealing with his serious and deep-seated father issues. He hated to think that the man in his dreams -- for it was, indeed always one man -- represented his father, but perhaps the man was more complicated than that – perhaps he represented Authority, or Philosophy, or...Fatherhood.

Damn! His dream lover was a man, that was the important factor, but Dr. Spencer Reid had managed to successfully ignore that fact for many years. It was as if he were living a double life: one in his dreams... and one out in the world. 

It should have been his worldly life that disturbed him more, filled as it was with extreme violence, blood and gore, and horrible death. His dream life was one of love and tenderness and sexual satisfaction, and that should not have troubled him, wouldn’t have troubled him, except that he couldn’t account for it all. His dream life was a mystery, and mysteries challenged him. Unsolved mysteries mocked him. There was reason he had chosen to become an FBI agent. There was a reason he worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Dr. Spencer Reid hated unsolved mysteries.

But how did one solve a mystery hidden in a dream?

And then the dreams stopped. 

He’d enjoyed that love and acceptance for years. Even though he couldn’t recall the details of his lover’s face and body, he knew that much. And then one night, his lover was gone, and he returned no more. That was when the headaches began.

The BAU had been hunting a serial killer who targeted children, and at first Spence attributed the headaches to the stress caused by the case. At first he was so tired he scarcely noticed the absence of the dreams, until he woke up crying with loneliness and longing. 

‘You look like crap, Reid,’ was Agent Derek Morgan’s comment.

‘Thanks,’ Spence replied casually, as was proper and expected.

‘No, I mean it, Reid. You look like crap. Been having more nightmares?’

Nightmares? Perhaps his life had become a nightmare, now that it seemed his beautiful dream had vanished like smoke. 

‘No. No nightmares. No dreams at all, actually.’

‘Everyone dreams,’ said Morgan. ‘Sometimes we don’t remember them, is all.’

Such a casual dismissal of what to Spence was becoming a terrible tragedy. But of course Morgan didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that. And how could Spence explain it to anyone? 

‘I’ve broken up with my dream lover. We’ve been together for years, and now he’s left me.’

How pathetic. Soon he’d be joining his mother in the mental hospital.

They arrested the serial killer in time to save his latest victim from certain death, so when they returned to Quantico, everyone on the plane was cheerful. Spence tried his best to join in, with somewhat limited success. 

JJ came to sit beside him. ‘You okay, Spence?’ she asked softly. JJ was the only one of the team to call him by his first name.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. And then, because he didn’t want to worry her, he added, ‘I still don’t understand why anyone would kill and torture little children. I know we’ve been dealing with this for years, but....’

‘But of course we can never really understand,’ JJ finished for him. ‘We don’t feel such terrible urges. I know this sounds simplistic, simple minded even, but we’re normal. Mostly.’ And she chuckled a little. ‘As normal as we can be, for people who hunt serial killers.’

Normal. What does the word even mean, Spence wondered.

But then they were home in Quantico, writing up the case, touching base with their colleagues. Catching up on the news. 

Spence relaxed a bit, took some painkillers for his headaches, and waited for the dreams to return, as they surely would now that he was home. But the dreams stayed away, and his fantasy lover’s absence lay upon the landscape like ash after a volcano.

‘You still look like crap, Reid,’ Morgan noted one day. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Mind your own business. And yes, I’ve seen a doctor. There’s nothing physically wrong with me. It’s psychosomatic.’

‘Meaning you’re nuts?’

‘Well, it’s more complicated than that, but yeah. I’m nuts.’

Morgan shrugged, and grinned. ‘Occupational hazard,’ he said.

They strolled on down the hall to the lounge to get some coffee. Emily Prentiss was there, sipping a steaming mug of brew and watching a news report on TV. 

‘Get this,’ she said. ‘This guy’s only been missing a few weeks and they want to have him declared dead so they can take over his assets. I mean, normally I don’t have much sympathy for billionaires, but... God! They’re like vultures. Is that even legal? Don’t you have to be missing for seven years? Without a body, or some other definite proof you’re dead....’

Spence barely heard a word after that, for the TV was flashing a picture of the ‘missing and presumed dead’ billionaire, and his world tilted crazily and spun around him several times before righting itself. 

‘Billionaire playboy Oliver Queen and LuthorCorp CEO Tess Mercer are petitioning the courts to have Lex Luthor, son of Lionel Luthor declared dead,’ the TV reporter was repeating. ‘Luthor has been missing for three weeks now, after he disappeared while flying over the Arctic.’

Spence stared at the face on the screen. Three weeks, he thought. My little mystery is solved. Well, sort of.

*****  
Spence was out of the lounge and down to Garcia’s lair before his mind caught up with his body – which was very unusual for him. Usually he was quick thinking and slow to action. As he opened the door he caught up with himself and stopped to think. 

Garcia looked up from her bank of computers. ‘What’s wrong, Sweetie?’ she asked. 

‘What’s wrong, Reid?’ Morgan chorused behind him. 

Spence caught his breath, and took control of his own heartbeat. Panic would not help, but make things worse. ‘I’m okay,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m going to ask Hotch for some personal time. You guys will have to struggle by without me for a few days.’

‘If Hotch agrees,’ Morgan pointed out. 

If he doesn’t agree, maybe I’ll have to turn in my badge, Spence thought wildly. But no, Hotch was a good unit chief, and Spence rarely asked for any personal consideration. 

‘Hotch will agree, I’m sure. In the meantime, Garcia, if you have the time, could you do just a tiny bit of research for me? I’ll owe you one, I promise.’

‘I’m not busy at the moment,’ Garcia agreed. ‘What is it you need to know?’

‘This isn’t for a case. Not yet anyway. I need to know whatever you can dig up on Lex Luthor, for a start. Also, Oliver Queen and Tess Mercer.’

‘Luthor? Isn’t he the guy who went missing?’

‘And now Queen and Mercer want to take over his company. I’m going to find out what’s going on.’

‘You think that’s suspicious?’ Morgan wondered.

‘And you don’t?’ Spence turned on Morgan, who looked amused. 

‘I think it’s not the business of the BAU, is all.’

‘Which is why I’m taking personal time,’ Spence pointed out.

‘But why?’ Morgan was following him down the hall to Hotch’s office. ‘What’s Luthor to you?’

‘That’s what I need to find out.’ He stopped at Hotch’s door, and turned back to his interrogator. ‘Look, Morgan, I appreciate your concern and all, but I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. This is personal, meaning private. Okay?’

The door to Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner’s office opened, to reveal the Boss himself. ‘Come inside, both of you,’ he ordered, in a voice that didn’t admit any disobedience. 

‘Sir!’ said Spence. He hurried in, Morgan following.

‘Sit down, both of you,’ Hotch continued. They sat, looking like errant schoolboys sent to the principal’s office. ‘Kindly explain what’s going on here, gentlemen.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t intend to cause a... a rumpus and get people in trouble.’

‘A rumpus?’ Morgan chuckled. Hotch shot him a fierce glare, and he shut up.

‘No one is in trouble, Reid. I just want you to explain the... rumpus outside my office.’

‘I have a personal problem, sir, that I want to take care of, so I was on my way here to ask for some personal time to deal with it. Morgan is concerned about me, but I can handle it.’

‘That’s good,’ Hotch replied. ‘And you were in Garcia’s office a moment ago. Yes, I know everything that goes on here. Explain, please.’

Of course Hotch knew everything, thought Spence. ‘I asked Garcia for some data, when she had the time, and she agreed. She told me she wasn’t busy at the moment.’

Hotch pressed a button on his desk. Ooops, thought Spence. ‘Garcia! Could you join me in my office, please, and bring any data you’ve collected on your current research project for Reid. Thanks.’

Spence didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Garcia hurried in a moment later, looking flustered. Spence took one look at her scared face. ‘Sir, I... it’s not her fault. I asked for a personal favour.’

‘I told you no one is in trouble. Yet,’ said Hotch. ‘Have a seat, Garcia. I just want you to fill us in on what you’ve learned so far.’

‘About Lex Luthor, sir? Not much. I’ve only had a few minutes. But... this is strange, sir. There are a lot of locked files. Our files. FBI files. It seems Luthor worked with the FBI. Works, actually, if he is still alive.’

‘He’s an agent?’ Spence asked.

‘An agent? A consultant? I don’t know, Reid. Good question. But he did work with us. I can’t find out how. Well, except for the time he helped us to investigate his own father for murder. Oh, yes. Didn’t you know? That was several years ago.’

‘I don’t remember that case,’ Reid admitted. Which was weird, considering his usual perfect memory. 

‘Anyway,’ Garcia went on. ‘He helped us get his father convicted of murdering his own parents for the insurance money. But his involvement with the FBI doesn’t seem to have stopped there.’

‘What’s he been doing for us lately?’ asked Morgan.

‘I don’t know. Something top secret. I can’t get into the files.’

Hotch looked up from his contemplation of his desk. ‘That will be all, then. Garcia, you can go on doing research for Reid, if you like, on your own time, but stop trying to break into those files. Now if you and Morgan can get back to work, I’ll consider Reid’s application for time off. Thank you.’ 

Garcia and Morgan left the room hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry about all this, sir,’ Spence ventured, again.

‘Stop apologizing. We all have personal issues that need to be addressed. I’ll give you time off, on two conditions. First of all, that you promise to be very careful. I know something about the connections between Luthor and the FBI, and it’s my opinion that you’re treading on very dangerous ground here.’

‘I appreciate your concern, sir.’

‘Do you? We’re a close-knit family in this unit. We don’t like our people haring off on quixotic missions, and this is a quixotic mission if I ever heard of one. What’s up, Reid? That’s my second condition. Tell me a little more about this personal problem first.’

Spence sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Hotch,' he said.

‘Well, everything seems to be quiet on the serial killer front at the moment, thank God,’ said Hotch. ‘So spill.’

*****  
“Spill”. That would be a lot easier if he knew more about the topic himself, thought Spence. He organized his fragments of knowledge as well as he could, and determined what fragments he could safely share with Hotch. Hotch sat quietly meditating, or whatever it was he did inside that mysterious head of his. 

‘All my life,’ Spence began, tentatively. ‘No. To be more accurate, most of my life, I’ve had dreams about a make-believe friend. At least, I thought he was make-believe, until recently. Now I know he’s a real person.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Hotch, gently. He raised his eyes from their contemplation of his desk, and fixed them on Spence. Hotch’s eyes possessed incredible X-ray powers, Spence had often thought. He was sure Hotch could see inside a person’s skin, right down to his or her soul. In some ways, Hotch was scarier than some of the Unsubs they pursued. 

‘They posted a picture of him on TV just now, and said he’s been missing for three weeks. I recognized the picture as my friend. It’s not much to go on, but....’

‘It’s nothing to go on,’ Hotch noted. ‘If you’ve believed all your life this friend was imaginary, why change your mind now?’ 

Spence could see that Hotch knew he wasn’t being told everything, but also that Hotch wasn’t inclined to press the issue. ‘So, you think I’m crazy?’ he asked, with a nervous grin.

‘Crazy? That’s a bit extreme. I think you’re on a quixotic mission, as I said before. Maybe too quixotic. Maybe you’re setting yourself up for a lot of pain. But it’s your choice, Reid. Where do you plan to go with this?’

‘I want to go to Metropolis and do some investigating. Interview Luthor’s friends. Interview the witnesses, if there are any. Talk to Oliver Queen and Tess Mercer. See what they have to say for themselves.’

‘This isn’t really within the purview of the BAU,’ said Hotch, in his best ruminative voice.

‘No, of course not. I’m planning on doing this as a free agent.’

‘Before you leave, let me do a little investigating of my own. If Luthor was one of our own, I might be able to make a case for our involvement in the investigation.’

‘Sure, Hotch. Thanks. And thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.’

‘Oh, I didn’t say that. I think perhaps you are a little crazy. But in that you’re no different from the rest of us. If we go official on this, I’ll have Garcia do more research and pass the data on to you.’

‘Thanks. But I think for now I want to go in without any more predetermined ideas. That way I can compare my impressions with Garcia’s findings, and see how far off base I am. This isn’t like building up a profile, based on the killer’s behaviour. We don’t even know for sure there has been a crime. I have my suspicions, but as you pointed out, nothing more.’

‘Good idea,’ said Hotch. ‘Why don’t you go make your arrangements, and I’ll make a few phone calls? I’ll give you a week, to start.’

‘Thanks, sir,’ said Spence. A week was more than he’d hoped for. Whether or not it would be long enough, remained to be seen.

******  
Spence dropped in on Garcia, in her lair, to bring her up to speed on his plans and on Hotch’s decision.

‘This Lex Luthor is an interesting character,’ she observed.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘He seems to be a bit of a genius. Maybe not as brilliant as you, but still....’

‘Intelligence can be measured in many ways,’ said Spence. ‘I might have a high IQ, but that means little or nothing sometimes.’

‘Luthor was running a factory at 21. Made a success of it, too. When his father tried to close it down, he organized an employee buyout, and the plant’s still running.’

‘Sounds like a good guy,’ said Spence.

‘Do I get to know what your interest is in him? Besides the possible murder, I mean?’

‘Not right now. Sorry. I’ll tell you more later, when I know more.’

‘Ooooh. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser. Okay, Mystery Man. I’ll keep digging up the dirt, as long as you keep your promise.’

‘I always keep my promises,’ said Spence. 

*****  
He went home to pack and make arrangements to be away for at least a week. This wasn’t going to be like one of his usual cases. He wouldn’t be flying off with the BAU, in their private jet, and suddenly that made him feel homesick – though of course this trip was his own idea. And he’d be the one leaving them behind. He wouldn’t be able to access their advice, or expertise. Not directly, at least.

Spence had many talents, besides his undoubted intelligence. He knew he was a genius, but he was also an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and had disarmed murderers intent on killing him. He was a talented sleight-of-hand magician. And, of course, he had that eidetic memory. But none of this made him feel like a superior human being who could walk all over other people. He loved the rest of the BAU team, and relied on their advice every time they took on a case.

And here he was, abandoning them to run off on a wild goose chase. A ‘quixotic mission’, Hotch had called it. Was he truly tilting against windmills? He opened the door to his empty apartment, and shut it behind himself. He lived alone, and had never suffered from loneliness until a few weeks ago, because someone else lived here with him, in his dreams. Was it wise or sane to pursue that dream? What would happen when he found it? Would Lex Luthor even recognize him in turn, or would he accuse him of being a stalker? And would Lex be right? Was all this a fantasy of a pathetic, lonely man who had never really learned to love, because he lived in his own mind?

Spence turned on his computer , and googled Lex Luthor. In a moment he was studying a series of photos of the man. In most of them, he looked sleek, arrogant and cold, hardly the stuff of dreams. But in several others, someone had caught a moment of something deeper. The cold grey eyes were darker, the face softened in happiness, or creased in pain. And then, in one final photograph, Lex Luthor’s eyes seemed to look into his own, and Spence recognized those eyes. Deep, mysterious eyes. Guarded eyes that hinted yet at a depth of passion that Spence had spent years exploring in his dreams....

Quickly, he entered search terms for Tess Mercer and Oliver Queen. He reminded himself that he had intended to go to Metropolis free of any prejudices, but now his curiosity was overwhelming. And perhaps it would be best not to go into that potentially dangerous situation completely ignorant, he told himself.

Mercer was beautiful, with her long, dark auburn hair. She had, somehow, a look of that sleekness that Lex Luthor possessed. Queen was a different animal, blond and muscular. Spence took one look at his face and had a rush of painful memories of the bullies who had tormented him in school . He was rich, too. A rich, blond, handsome bully. Wonderful. 

Spence went into his bedroom, and studied himself in the mirror for a moment. He didn’t usually pay too much attention to how he looked, being more concerned with how his own mind worked to solve mysteries. He was the most intellectual member of the team. JJ was beautiful, blond and media savvy. She knew how to handle people, far better than he did. JJ would know how to handle Oliver Queen and Tess Mercer. How was Spence going to manage this on his own? Queen would see him as a victim, someone he could push around easily. 

He packed a few clothes and headed back to the unit. Morgan was at his desk, writing up reports. He looked up and smiled, but his eyes looked worried. ‘Hey, kid. Hotch told me you’re heading off to the big city alone.’

‘I’ll survive,’ said Spence.

‘I don’t doubt it. You’re smarter than anyone else I know.’

‘Book smarts,’ said Spence.

‘Yes, but you have a lot more practical knowledge than you did a few years ago. Working with me has opened your eyes, right?’

‘Yeah, right.’ Spence grinned.

‘I maybe could get some time off to go with you,’ Morgan offered .

‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea. This is something.... something really private.’

‘That’s what Hotch said, but I don’t get it. Who is this guy to you, Reid? I just think he’s trouble.’

‘Probably,’ Spence admitted. ‘But he’s my trouble, and I have to deal with him. There is something you can do to help, though.’

‘Anything. You know that.’

‘I need to look a bit more impressive. You know, like a real G-Man.’ 

 

You’re kidding, right?’

‘No. I’ve been told I look twelve years old. Gideon kindly bumped me up to fourteen.’

‘So what? It never bothered you before.’

‘Well, yes it did, a bit. But most of the time I have you backing me up. Or Prentiss. Or Hotch. Somebody who looks like they work for the FBI. I need a new suit.’

‘A suit? Reid? Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘No. Not sure at all. Just... go shopping with me. Help me find something to make me look at least eighteen. Please?’

Morgan shook his head in despair. ‘Me? Take you shopping? How about Prentiss, or JJ?’

‘They’re busy. And please don’t mention Garcia. And you’re writing reports. Surely you can tear yourself away for an hour.’

‘Okay,’ said Morgan. ‘But you owe me.’

Spence snorted. ‘If you say so.’

*****  
‘You look like an undertaker,’ was Morgan’s comment on the suit he finally chose.

‘Good,’ said Spence. ‘At least I don’t look like a high school kid.’

‘Mmmm. A high school kid dressed up as an undertaker, maybe.’

‘I need my hair cut shorter and some dark glasses.’

‘Reid, you’re on your own, now. I’ve got to get back to those reports.’

‘Have fun,’ said Spence. He studied Morgan as the man sauntered away, and tried to copy that air of insouciance himself, as he went off to search for the perfect pair of G-Man shades.

 

*****

 

‘Morgan tells me you bought a suit.’

‘Well, gee, Garcia. Seems a man can’t have any privacy in the BAU anymore.’

‘He never could. The BAU knows all, sees all. And I know and see even more.”

‘There is no more than all. But tell Morgan I went back and got a second suit. The navy pinstripe... and a black silk shirt.’

‘Yowza! Sexy. But I’m hurt you didn’t want to go shopping with me.’  
In that case, thought Spence, he may have ended up with an orange pinstripe suit and a purple shirt. ‘I want to compete with other males in the Masculinity Olympics,’ he explained. ‘When I want to look like sexy chick, I’ll ask for your advice.’

‘Hah! You’ll never compete with this sexy chick. In the meantime, I’ve got a big file all ready to send to your BlackBerry. Lots and lots of useful info.’

‘Thanks, Garcia. I appreciate it.’

‘It’s nothing, Sweetie. But who’s this guy you’re competing with? Oliver Queen?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Because you’re competing on the wrong playing field. Honey, you’ve got him beat hands down for brains. Remember that, okay?’

‘Okay, but Queen doesn’t look like the sort to be impressed with anyone’s brains.’

‘That’s his problem. Spence? Have you had a chance to talk to Hotch?’

‘Yeah. He wasn’t able to get me any sort of official standing in this investigation, because there isn’t any sort of official investigation.’

‘So I’ve heard, and I think that stinks.’

‘Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark?’

‘Yeah, Shakespeare. But at least Hotch hasn’t called you back home. You’re a one man team, so go get ‘em.’

Flight 139 is now boarding at Gate 9....

‘Thanks, Garcia. They’re calling my flight . I’ll talk to you later. Bye.’

It was strange going through security without the others. Stranger still to be on a commercial jet, with a stranger sitting beside him. The stranger turned out to be an elderly lady flying home from her sister’s funeral. But she was nice and quiet and didn’t bother him much, so he downloaded the files from Garcia, and gave them a cursory glance. 

‘You with the FBI?’

Huh? Oh, the little old lady sitting next to him.... ‘Ummm... yeah.’ Brilliant response. But she’d taken him by surprise.

‘I recognized the front page on your files,’ she explained. 

Fair enough. Even Little Old Ladies could make deductions based on obvious evidence.

‘Sorry if your files are Top Secret,’ she went on, without looking all that sorry. In fact, her expression was more one of curiosity. Avid curiosity.

‘Not too Top Secret,’ said Spence. And then because her face fell, he decided to throw her a tidbit. It was no real secret, after all. ‘I’m on my way to Metropolis to investigate the disappearance of Lex Luthor. Keep that a secret between us, okay?’

‘Okay.’ She grinned, as from one conspirator to another. ‘What do you think happened to him? I come from Metropolis, and most people there admire him. I’m glad someone’s on the case.’

‘I’ve only started my investigation, so I have no true suspects yet, but I’m a bit suspicious of Oliver Queen.’

‘I’ll tell you something,’ said the Little Old Lady. ‘The grandson of a friend of mine went to school with Oliver Queen and Lex Luthor. Oliver was a bully, and Lex was one of his regular victims. That was what he told us, make of it what you will.’

‘Thanks,’ said Spence. That was one supposition supported by evidence. Hearsay evidence, granted, but....

‘I can tell you more stories,’ the Little Old Lady went on. ‘Hearsay, you’d call it. Rumour and gossip, I’m admitting to that upfront. And, to be totally honest with you, since you’ve admitted to being a G-Man, I must tell you of my own profession. I hope it won’t lead you to discount everything I say.’ She sighed, and looked away for a moment. 

Spence wondered what her profession could be, to make her suddenly look so sad. A prostitute? A bank robber? A hitman? No, scratch that... hitwoman? ‘I grew up in Las Vegas ,’ he said. ‘I’m not at all judgemental. Ever.’

‘That’s good.’ The Little Old Lady brightened instantly. ‘And so then, here’s my card.’ She handed him a small white rectangle upon which, in beautiful calligraphy, were engraved the words: Madame Rhiannon, Fortunes Told, the Lost Found.

 

 

. 

 

.’

 

*****  
Spence chose a respectable hotel, not in the centre of Metropolis, or too far out in the suburbs, but in a quiet area where he would be sure to notice anyone hanging around watching him. He chose a suite, with Wi-Fi and a small kitchen so he could cook some of his own meals. He’d be paying more for the room, but he could save on food, he thought. He better rent a car for the week, or he’d be spending a fortune on taxis.

After he checked in, and unpacked, he set up his laptop on the table by a window, and called Garcia.

‘Fount of all knowledge,’ she answered. ‘Check my flow!’

‘That’s what I’m calling about,’ said Spence. ‘When you have the time, could you look up a person calling herself Madame Rhiannon. She says she’s a fortune teller, and we had a very interesting conversation on the flight here from D.C.’

‘A fortune teller? You think she’s a suspect?’

‘Nothing that serious. I’m just interested, is all.’

‘Because of your interesting conversation?’ Garcia snickered.

‘The lady is in her seventies, and we talked about Schrodinger’s Cat.’

‘That sounds like the kind of lady who’d interest you, yes indeedy. Schrodinger’s Cat? I’ve heard the term, but I never really understood what it was all about.’

‘It’s a thought experiment, which illustrates how the microworld and the macroworld are entangled.’

‘The what and the what? Reid, speak English.’

‘The microworld is the world of atoms and electrons, the world of quantum mechanics. The macroworld is the world of larger living beings.’

‘Like cats.’

‘Like cats, and people, yes. Schrodinger proposed this thought experiment. Suppose a cat were in a locked room with a vial of poison....’

‘Oh my God! The poor cat!’

‘And a trap is set so that if a radioactive atom decays, it will release the poison and kill the cat.’

‘How horrible. It sounds like Schrodinger is a pervert and a torturer.’

‘It’s a thought experiment, Garcia.’

‘You said that already. What’s the point?’

‘The point being that radioactive atoms are always both decayed and not decayed, according to quantum mechanics. Our own ideas of logic don’t apply. So, if the cat is locked in a room, dependent on the atom to determine its own state of life and death....’

‘The cat is like the radioactive atom: both alive and dead at the same time.’

‘Yes,’ said Spence, softly.

‘Spence?’

‘Yes, Garcia?’

‘Why were you and your fortune teller talking about this weird stuff?’

‘I think she was trying to point out the futility of my reliance on logic,’ said Spence. ‘I was insisting that fortelling the future was futile, so she was returning the favour.’

‘I see,’ said Garcia. And then she said, ‘Bingo! Eureka, and so on. Madame Rhiannon. She’s quite well known to the police in Metropolis, for a start.’

Spence felt a sinking in his stomach. ‘She has a record?’

‘No, no. Quite the opposite. She’s helped the police on several occasions. Finding bodies and things like that.’

‘Ah! Well, unsubs do sometimes insinuate themselves into investigations.’

‘Yes, but there was never any suspicion of Madame Rhiannon’s motives, since she was invited into the investigations by family members.’

‘Fair enough. So, she’s legit as far as that goes. Thanks, Garcia.’

‘Don’t mention it. Just send flowers and candy.’

‘When I have the time,’ said Spence. 

He turned off his phone, and looked out the window on the Metropolis skyline. Far off in the distance, he could see the outline of Luthor Tower. They’d passed it on the way to his hotel, and he’d asked the taxi driver a bit about it. The dark edifice seemed to bear no connection to the passionate, tender lover of Spence’s dreams, and the taxi driver confirmed his impressions by informing him that the tower had been built about 15 years ago, when Lex Luthor would have been a child. 

Spence sat and stared out the window for a time, organizing his thoughts, until the peace and quiet of the hotel room began to sink in. Since this morning, he hadn’t taken a moment to really stop and take stock or to think about what he was doing, or thinking or feeling. Now he realized that he was alone. He had no appointments. No one was expecting him to do anything. And it was late, it was dark, and he was tired. In the morning, he could drop in on the local bureau, track down Oliver Queen and Tess Mercer. Drop in on Madame Rhiannon, and ask her some pointed questions about motives, and so on. But for now, it would be best to relax, have dinner and a shower, and get some sleep. Otherwise he might end up looking like he’d gone off the rails and turned into the crank people were bound to see him as eventually.  
He filled the bath with hot water, and ordered food from room service. Tomorrow he’d get a car, and some groceries for the fridge, but for now...

...for now, the hot soup and chicken sandwich tasted great, and the bath water was just the right temperature. He left the curtains open, and turned off the lights, and crawled under the covers, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow...

...and then the dreams began....

*****

Spence turned his rental car off the main highway, heading out to the countryside, and the location of an old, mostly abandoned airstrip. That was where, according to his sources, Oliver Queen was living, in his own private jet.

It was a warm Kansas day, and the sun was shining on the fields of corn. Spence supposed that fields of corn were commonly considered beautiful, but he was finding them oddly unsettling, as if a monster might come charging out from a row of cornstalks at any moment. Probably it was only his overworked brain that was making him fantasize about such events – that and the fact that he had never found the countryside to be all that restful, growing up as he had in Las Vegas. 

And then there were his strange dreams of last night. He had dreamt that he was living in another world, one in which he was a alien, trapped with no way to get home. He looked like everyone else around him, and spoke like everyone else, but he knew that inside, he was an alien. 

Spence pulled up beside a particularly hostile-looking stalk of corn, and stared it down. It rustled in the wind a little, and suddenly a crow rose up from its bug hunt to attack him through the window, flapping its wings and screaming, before flying off to land on a nearby scarecrow and scold him mightily in crow language.

‘Crows are highly intelligent birds,’ Spence told the cornstalk. ‘But you are just a vegetable. Am I still lost in my nightmare, or have I finally and irrevocably lost my mind, that I’m speaking to corn? But then again, I have heard it said that if you can question your own sanity, it means you’re safe enough. Is that true? Can I trust such ancient wisdom?’ Spence sat quietly in his car for a moment, monitoring his own thoughts. He heard no strange voices warning him to beware of spies in crow form, or to murder the next person he met. That much reassurance would have to do, he thought, and started up the car once more.

Several miles further on and there it was – the airstrip, with a lone jet parked off to the side. Spence drove up, wondering how one handled the affair of visiting someone who lived in a plane. Could he just walk up and knock on the hatch? Or must he hail the ship, as one did with boats?

And then the hatchway opened, and a man stepped out. Tall and blond. Clearly Oliver Queen. 

‘Hello?’ called the blond. ‘You the pizza boy?’

Spence walked all the way up to Queen before answering. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I’m with the FBI.’ He stood on the tarmac looking around for a moment, then added, ‘This is a strange place to live. You want to be able to make a quick getaway, or what?’

‘You’re with the FBI?’ asked Queen, ignoring Spence’s remarks about his place of abode. ‘Don’t you guys usually travel in pairs?’

Spence lifted an imperious eyebrow. ‘You guys?’ he asked in return. This back and forth interrogation could go on forever, he thought. Time to end it, with him as the winner. ‘Mind if I look around inside?’

‘Inside the plane?’

No. Inside your head, thought Spence, but then that looked to be made of solid marble. ‘I want to look inside the plane, yes.’

‘Could I see your identification first? Hmmm. Spencer Reid. Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid.’

‘That’s me,’ said Spence. ‘May I see your plane now?’

The plane looked much like any other private jet. He preferred the one operated by the BAU, of course, but this one was luxurious enough, complete with a bar and sleeping quarters.

‘You are involved with a lawsuit to have Lex Luthor declared dead,’ he told Queen, after having a good look around.

‘I know that,’ the man replied, coldly.

‘Good. Do you know why you’re petitioning for such a declaration?’

‘Why?’

‘Yes, why? Stop repeating my questions, Mister Queen, and start answering them.’

Queen looked furious enough to throw him off the plane, quite possibly while it was some miles up in the air. ‘Lex Luthor is dead,’ he said finally, after a struggle with his obvious temper. ‘All that remains is to declare that fact. But LuthorCorp needs a leader, someone in charge.’

‘And why shouldn’t that person be you? Well, you and Tess Mercer.’

Something flashed in Oliver Queen’s eyes. Something akin to lust. Spence wondered if the lust were for Mercer, or for the power invested in the leader of LuthorCorp.

‘You say that Luthor is dead, as if it were a known fact,’ Spence went on. ‘Did you find his body?’

‘No,’ said Queen.

‘Well then, what evidence do you have?’

‘His plane went down over the Arctic, and nothing has been heard from him since.’

‘Fair enough, but people do go missing, and then show up later, which is why the law usually stipulates a waiting time of some years. Your actions are somewhat precipitous, wouldn’t you say?’ 

Queen shrugged. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t see it that way.’

And everyone else is just supposed to see everything your way, I suppose, thought Spence. Then he considered Queen’s wealth and good looks and decided that in most cases, most people probably would see things his way. But Dr. Spencer Reid wasn’t most people. He was turning to Queen to inform him of that fact, but there was a sudden gust of wind outside, that rocked the plane, and then, oddly, someone appeared all of a sudden, in the hatchway. He was tall, and dark, and very muscular. 

‘Ollie!’ the visitor exclaimed. ‘Have you heard about....’

‘Clark!’ Oliver Queen interrupted, cutting into the other man’s speech, as if to shut him up. ‘This is Spencer Reid, with the FBI.’

 

And why would that news make this Clark person look suddenly guilty, Spence wondered.

 

*****

On the drive to the Luthor Mansion, Spence debated with himself, but finally gave in and called Garcia.

‘Hold on, O Brainy One,’ she said. ‘I’m busy, but I’ll get to you in a minute.’

‘I’ll call you back,’ said Spence.

‘Not necessary,’ she replied. ‘This isn’t a life and death matter.’

‘That’s good.’ Spence shuddered to think about all the times that Garcia had saved someone’s life with one of her computer searches. He would not want to be responsible for distracting her at such a time. 

‘What I’m doing is important but not vital,’ she explained. ‘Talk to me. Tell me what’s up, and I’ll get to it as soon as I can.’

‘Okay. Could you do a search for a Clark Kent. Lives in Metropolis now, but comes from....’

‘Smallville,’ said Garcia.

‘That was quick.’

‘Well, he showed up in the search I did for you earlier.’

‘So, there’s data about him on my laptop, that I haven’t checked out yet.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t investigate him in detail, because I didn’t know he was involved in this case. He’s just a former friend of Lex Luthor, and a current friend of....’

‘Oliver Queen. I know. I drove out to interview Queen, and Kent showed up in the middle of it all, just out of the blue. I mean that literally, Garcia. He came out of nowhere. Freaked me out.’

‘He freaked you out? Freaked you out? What the.... hang on, Sweetie. I’ve got a terminal free. I’m starting a detailed search right now.’ Her voice, usually so warm and loving, had turned hard and icy at the mere suggestion of a threat to one of her own. ‘If there’s any dirt on this Kent guy, anything at all, I’ll dig it up, don’t worry.’

‘I’m not worried. Really, I’m okay. He didn’t threaten me or anything. He just kind of derailed the interview, and gave me absolutely nothing in return.’

‘But you were freaked out by him. You! Reid, you’ve faced down some of the most hardened serial killers who ever lived. By the dozens. What was so freaky about this Kent that... Oh my God!’

‘What? What? Did you dig up some dirt?’

‘Not exactly dirt, per se, but certainly a lot of weirdness. And some stories that it seemed existed at one time, but now... I’m trying to track them down, but it’s like chasing ghosts. And some data is flagged, like it’s Top Secret or something. This is so odd....And his mother? She’s a State Senator.’

‘Oh, yeah? So?’

‘Yeah, but she’s been throwing her weight around a lot, lately.’

‘Do State Senators have a lot of weight?’

‘Not usually, but this one does. She has body guards, too.’

‘Body guards? Who does she think she is? The President?’

‘She’s just State Senator Martha Kent, as far as I know. Who she thinks she is... that’s a good question, but for me, the more important question is, how does she pay for it? The state won’t do that, not for a mere senator, not as far as I know. As for any personal fortune – she used to be a farmer, and not a very successful one. And this is interesting... On at least two occasions, she and her late husband lost their farm and their home. Guess who saved them from penury and homelessness? Your Lex Luthor, that’s who. But now things get really interesting. Not long after, Martha’s husband, Jonathan Kent, ran for Senator against that very Lex Luthor. Deliberately entered the contest to beat him, it appears. And guess who funded the campaign? Guess?’

‘I can’t even begin to guess, Garcia. Enlighten me.’

‘Lionel Luthor.’

‘Lionel Luthor? Lex’s father? The man who killed his own parents?’

‘The very man. They tried to hide all those contributions, but these things leak out. Then they tried to deny it, but now it’s pretty widely known. They seem to have gotten away with it all, though, and no one seems to mind. Bizarre, isn’t it?’

‘I would have said it was bizarre, before I came here and met some of these people. I gather Jonathan Kent died, and his wife took his seat?’

‘Yup. Right after the campaign. And she’s all palsy with Lionel. Go figure.’

 

'That's what I'm here for,' said Spence. 'If I survive my little sojourn in the countryside, I'm going back to my hotel to read those files you sent me. In the meantime, I intend to visit the Luthor house to talk to Mercer. I hope Kent doesn't show up there, too.'

 

‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ said Garcia. ‘Based on the data I’m looking at now, he seems to show up everywhere.’

*****  
My God, it really was a mansion. Or a castle. ‘Castle’ was actually a better term for this monstrosity, Spence thought. It was bizarre that his dream lover had lived here, in a castle, like a knight in shining armour, though surely not by choice. Ancient Scottish castles were all very well in context – the context being the Scottish highlands. Here in the corn-growing Kansas countryside they were at the very least extraneous, if not actually insane.

Spence got out of his car, and leaned against the hood for a long moment, studying the aspect. There was something here that pulled at him, or nudged at him. Something was trying to attract his attention, or divert his attention. There was something wrong here, something out of place – out of place besides the castle. The castle was obvious, and what better place to hide something else ‘out of place’, then inside something so obviously out of place? Spot the hidden object. What’s wrong with this picture? Where’s Waldo? 

The front door – correction, one of the front doors – opened, and a man stepped out.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Clark Kent.

‘I told you earlier this morning,’ Spence replied, evenly. ‘I’m investigating the disappearance of Lex Luthor. This is, I am assured, his home.’

‘Well, he’s not home,’ said Kent. ‘He’s gone missing.’

‘Are you a comedian,’ Spence asked, with exaggerated curiosity. ‘I come from Vegas, where comics are a dime a dozen, so I’m not impressed.’

‘No, I’m not a comic,’ said Kent. ‘I’m a reporter.’

‘Some people, mostly in law enforcement, would say it’s the same thing. However, am I to assume it is in your capacity as a reporter that you keep showing up? Are you here to help with my investigations, or to disrupt them?’

‘Neither. This is just a coincidence.’

‘Coincidence? Since this is merely the second time you’ve appeared before me today, I’ll take a chance and believe it to be a coincidence. The third time, I’ll have a different reaction. Beware.’

‘I’m terrified,’ sneered Kent.

‘Good,’ said Spence. He stalked toward the door.

‘Are you going inside?’ asked Kent.

‘No, I’m going to stand out here and bandy meaningless words with a reporter all day. I’ve nothing better to do.’ Spence pushed past him to knock on the door.

‘I guess so, if you’re investigating Lex Luthor’s disappearance,’ said Kent.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Spence, turning to question Kent further, but he’d disappeared. Literally disappeared. Spence looked around carefully, but there was no sign of the other man. Here, in the flat Kansas countryside, a man had disappeared while Spence’s back was turned.

The door to the castle opened again, and someone else appeared in the doorway. A woman, this time. Tall, regal, with dark red hair. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘May I help you?’

Spence collected himself, and smiled benignly. ‘Hello,’ he replied. ‘I’m Doctor Spencer Reid, with the FBI.’ He showed her his badge. ‘I’d like to ask you some questions. Are you Ms. Tess Mercer?’

‘Yes,’ she answered briefly. ‘Please come in.’

Mercer did not look or sound surprised, merely annoyed, as though high-ranking FBI investigators showed up at her door every day, and she was getting bored. Interesting reaction. Had Kent already tipped her off? Probably. Probably he’d been on his way to tip off Oliver Queen earlier this morning, but Spence had beaten him there. 

Clark Kent, the man who appeared out of nowhere, and disappeared back into the abyss.

He followed Mercer down a long hallway, and into a beautiful room with stained glass windows and a large desk. 

‘Please be seated,’ said Mercer, taking the seat behind the desk.

‘Thanks, but I’ll stand for now,’ Spence told her. ‘I assume this was Lex’s office? Which you are now using?’

‘Someone had to run the company. I was named in his will as his successor.’

‘In his will? So, he’s been declared dead?’

‘Not officially, but in the meantime....’

‘In the meantime, you’re living in his house and using his desk.’

‘What is your point, Mr. Reid?’

‘Doctor Reid,’ Spence reminded her. ‘I have three Ph.Ds. To say nothing of my other degrees.’

‘So what? Are you trying to impress me?’

‘I’m trying to point out that I’m far from stupid, Ms. Mercer. When I see people behaving as you have behaved, and as Oliver Queen has behaved, it sets off warning signals in my far from tiny brain.’

‘What can I do to allay your suspicions?’

‘Move out of Lex Luthor’s house until his death has been authenticated. Co-operate with the investigation. Look as though you give a damn about the man whose goods and fortune you are attempting to appropriate. Look as though you’d be happy if he were found alive.... Does any of this ring a bell with you?’

‘I don’t show my emotions easily,’ said Mercer. ‘I do have strong feelings about Lex Luthor, but let’s say my opinion of him has changed recently. I had nothing to do with his death, but I’m not so sure that death was a bad thing.’

‘Really? I suppose it wasn’t such a bad thing for you, since he named you his successor. You get to live in a castle and sit at a fancy desk in a fancy office and make judgements about the man who gave you all this, with that very death.’ Spence waved his hand about the beautiful room. ‘If he really is dead. Did you see his body with your own eyes?’

‘No,’ said Mercer.

‘Well then, I’m going to reserve my judgement until I have spoken to someone who did see his body, or who witnessed his death. In the meantime, remain available for further interviews, if you please....’

‘I’m a busy woman.’

‘I’m sure you are. You’ll be even busier, if you give me a hard time... What was that?’

‘What?’

‘That loud boom, like an explosion.’ Not close by, but off in the distance. Maybe a sonic boom, Spence thought. He went to a window – one of the non-stained glass windows, and looked outside. A man was running toward the mansion. A man who looked very like Clark Kent, but somehow different. Stronger, maybe. Harder. Angrier. And his eyes were gleaming red....

And then he was just... gone. Disappeared, like Kent had disappeared earlier, but this time before Spence’s eyes. 

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mercer.

‘Nothing,’ said Spence. ‘Probably just a sonic boom.’

I’m not telling just anyone about things like this, Spence thought. Otherwise I might end up in the hospital like my mother. But maybe there is someone I can talk to about it all. He hunted in his jacket pockets and found her little white card, still safe, if a bit bent out of shape. First he would go back to his hotel and read Garcia’s files, then pay a visit to Madame Rhiannon.


End file.
